Werewolf Chronicles Book I
by Spacious Skies
Summary: Working title: Harry gets bitten by a werewolf before he goes to Hogwarts. What trials and prejudice from the Wizarding community await him? Read to find out. Chapter 4: The Hut on the Rock and Chapter 5: Rubeus Hagrid
1. Prologue: The First Prophecy

Prologue: The First Prophecy

It was a cold, wet night in Hogsmeade. There was a loud sloshing sound as an old man in a burlap cloak trudged through the muddy street. In the town, there was but one light coming from a building. All other restaurants, stores, etcetera, were closed. The lit building was a run-down pub called the Hog's Head Inn. It just so happened to be the old man's destination.

The man threw off the hood of his cloak when he entered the pub, revealing long, silvery hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and a care-worn face. This man was Albus Dumbledore.

"Good evenin' Albus," grunted the bartender.

"Nice evening yourself, Aldrin," said Dumbledore. He plodded onward up the stairs and into a room with "267" in brass numbers emblazoned on the door. Dumbledore knocked and waited for someone to answer the door.

A woman opened the door. She had many shawls draped around her and the room gave off a strong aroma of tea leaves and other various perfumes as soon as the door was opened. "Hello, Albus," said the woman in a deep, mystical voice. Dumbledore thought the mystical tone was forced, but he said nothing.

"Shall we get started with the interview, Sibyll?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes. That would be wise. I understand that you have other pressing matters," stated Sibyll Trelawney. She took her seat on an armchair in front of a coffee table. On the coffee table, a crystal ball was placed, along with a mug of tea. Dumbledore merely took a wand from the inner part of his robes and conjured up an armchair of his own. Dumbledore sipped his cup of tea as he began the interview.

"Now then, tell me," began Dumbledore, "how much experience have you had in the field of Divination?"

"Well," started Trelawney, "my great-great-grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney, was a well-established Seer. I am quite skilled at interpreting tea leaves and reading the mystical crystal ball.

"Okay then, tell me what you can see," Dumbledore stated, handing her a cup with tea leaves arranged in it.

"I. . . erm. . . see a stripe in the. . . uh. . . right-hand side of the cup, symbolizing a steady life. . . and a. . . jagged line overlapping it, showing that you have had difficulties cross your lifetime. There is even a break in this line right here, meaning you will die within the next twenty or so years." Dumbledore merely nodded, not looking impressed.

"Well, let's move on to the crystal ball," said Dumbledore, hoping that this portion of the interview would prove much better. "Describe to me what you see."

"The Seeing Eye does not see upon command," said Trelawney. "However I shall try my best." She began moving her hands in a circular motion around the crystal ball. "I see a light within the crystal ball. It symbolizes a coming ray of hope into these dark times. However the light is dim, and it is not certain whether it will make a permanent end to the darkness and cease to exist, or if it survives and extinguishes the current darkness forever."

Dumbledore was not impressed however. To him, it didn't seem as though Trelawney gave a truthful description of what she saw, and that it was merely guesswork.

"I'm sorry Sibyll, but I'm not sure you have inherited your grandmother's gift of future sight. I deeply apologize, but I don't think that you would be suitable for the post of Divination teacher at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore courteously, He slightly bowed his head to her, and turned to leave, when the room became eerily quiet.

Dumbledore turned to Trelawney and noticed that her eyes were wide-open, and had a frightening expression on her face that would startle any man. She then spoke in a hatsh voice.

"_THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. . . . BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . . "

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Well, what do you think? I'm not sure if I will continue, but review, and I will try to continue with a new chapter as soon as possible.


	2. The Beginning of a New Legacy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Otherwise, my name would be J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't be composing music, I'd be rich, and I would be found in England. This does not describe me in any way, shape, or form. The plot I have in store is based loosely off of J.K. Rowling's plot, just with some of my own creativity. If you can call it creativity, that is.

Well, the first part of this chapter comes from the night that Harry's parents were attacked. The second half comes from the second part of chapter one, with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid.

Let's start the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter One: The Beginning of a Legacy**

It was a still, quiet Halloween night. As October came to a close, and November started to set in, the night got steadily colder. The moon was barely a sliver as it was only four days after the new moon phase, so there was not much light shining onto Godric's Hollow.

It was approaching midnight, and there were three cloaked figures approaching the house of the Potters: James, Lily, and Harry. The figure at the lead was shivering in fear of the figure behind his leader. The one at the back grumbled that he had to watch his master kill someone who could have been his "prey." The master, who was in between his two followers, had a cool stride lacing every step. He was pleased about being able to kill the one person who might have turn out to be his downfall otherwise.

"The Potters are hiding there, my lord," said the head of the group. He was pointing at what seemed to be an empty space.

"Bah! There's no one anywhere," growled the person at the back.

"Hush, Fenrir," said the shaded figure in the middle. "The Potters have hidden the house with a Fidelis Charm," he explained in his cold, cruel voice.

"Wormtail was made their Secret-Keeper. Not to their advantage, of course," he continued with a laugh as a house appeared to sprout out from thin air, shoving other houses out of the way. The residents of those houses did not seem to notice that the house had even shoved them away.

"Right," said Fenrir, obviously upset about something.

"What's bothering you, Fenrir?" said the leader.

"Nothing is wrong, Lord Voldemort," replied Fenrir.

"I believe there is," said Voldemort thoughtfully. "I can see what you have been thinking. You want me to leave the young child for you to bite, eh?"

Fenrir merely mumbled.

"Well, I apologize, Fenrir, but I cannot allow the boy to remain alive. I have my reasons," he added as Fenrir was about to object. Feeling dejected, Fenrir grumbled in defeat.

"He could have been an excellent-," Fenrir began, but Voldemort interrupted.

"Do you honestly think that Harry Potter would join us?" asked Voldemort furiously. "If we left him alive, then that would give him an opportunity to carry out the prophecy for his benefit." Voldemort was furious. Fenrir knew that if he wasn't quiet, he would get a mouthful of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Very well then…," sighed Fenrir, knowing he couldn't convince his leader.

"Look, why don't you both wait here. Wormtail especially. If James or Lily is able to make a break for it, you can make your own strike against them. I'll try to make it so that Lily will make a break for it, so Fenrir won't feel too… _unaccomplished_," finished Voldemort with a wicked smirk. With a swish of his cloak, Voldemort turned and entered the house, where neither Wormtail or Fenrir would ever see him again until Wormtail finds him twelve and a half years from that moment.

Thirty seconds passed after Voldemort entered the Potter House before a shout from the house was heard. Wormtail squirmed when he realized that it was James's voice that shouted, "Lily! Take Harry and run!"

Fenrir licked his fangs at the opportunity this presented him. If he could get to the boy, he was free, but Lily never emerged from the door.

A flash of green light escaped from the windows of an upstairs room, which happened to be the nursery. A female voice shouted, "Harry!" before it was silenced.

"Now for you," said Voldemort, turning to Harry in the crib. "_Avada Kedavra_!" A blast of green light was released from his wand, but the curse rebounded off of Harry's body and turned back to Voldemort, the force of the blast causing skin to sizzle and peel off of Voldemort's body.

Voldemort screamed as the foundation of the house started to give way. As Voldemort's body burned to its last moments, an explosion occurred, destroying the entire house. Wormtail fled from the scene as soon as possible while Fenrir stayed behind. At the center of the building remains, there was a crib standing on three legs with a baby in it, unaware of the events that had occurred.

Fenrir strode over to the crib, hungrily – not that he was going to eat Harry, but would do the same with him as he had with most of his bitten -- and leaned over the crib. He noticed the lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and said, "Heh. In time, Potter, in time. I'll wait for you to become famous to the Wizarding World. Then you'll be an even better prize to own."

He left at the right time too, because a man with long, black hair and another man with brown hair had walked under a nearby streetlight, making themselves noticeable. Fenrir growled at their appearance, but recognized something familiar about the brown-haired one.

"Whatever," he growled, and walked off.

* * *

"Remus!" exclaimed the man with the long black hair. "You don't think that…" 

"Yes, Sirius. I believe Voldemort has gotten to them," said Remus sadly. "On thing I don't understand is: weren't you their Secret-Keeper?"

Sirius merely growled and said, "I can't believe I let this happen."

"Sirius?" asked Remus worriedly.

"I have to go," Sirius burst out suddenly. He walked off and then Disapparated from the scene.

"But what about," Remus began, but he was interrupted by a "_pop_" when Sirius Diapparated, "Harry…?" He finished. He then turned at another "_pop_" and saw Albus Dumbledore, having brought Hagrid with him via Side-Along Apparition.

"It has happened then, Remus?" asked Dumbledore. The twinkle that was usually dancing behind his half-moon spectacles was dead at the moment, fearing the worst.

"Yes, it has," Remus answered. Hagrid bellowed a cry of sadness. "Calm down, Hagrid. Harry will be alright." He patted Hagrid on the back, knowing that Hagrid had experienced tragic deaths already. Even if Hagrid was a half-giant, he still had a soft heart that was upset easily.

Remus turned to Dumbledore, still patting Hagrid on the back. "Harry is alive, though, Albus. So what is going to happen to Harry after this terrifying ordeal?"

"Well, I don't think that Tom Riddle has yet vanished from this earth. He more than likely had not enough human enough left in him to truly die," stated Dumbledore. (A/N: You know, now that I think about it, that statement could have been foreshadowing to the Horcruxes. I don't know. It may be just merely a thought.)

"Yeah, he prob'ly didn'," agreed Hagrid between sobs. Remus's comforting didn't seem to do much to help Hagrid, so he stopped as Hagrid bellowed another loud sob.

"Hagrid, please," said Dumbledore politely. "Harry will have to stay with his aunt and uncle. They're his only relatives and, legally, he should go to them."

"Sirius is Harry's godfather. Wouldn't Harry be safer with him than with Muggles who could barely defend themselves against angry Death Eaters?" asked Remus.

"There would be wards around the neighborhood. That won't keep them out, but it will prevent them from Apparating too close to Harry's relatives' house," explained Dumbledore.

Remus was still unsure about sending Harry to his aunt and uncle. From what he had heard from Lily, her sister, Petunia, despised any and all forms of magic. '_Then again_,' thought Remus, '_Dumbledore usually knows what he's doing_.'

"Rubeus?" asked Dumbledore. Hagrid stopped his sobbing to pay attention to the one who had treated him with such kindness over the years, even after Armando Dippet expelled him from school in his third year at Hogwarts.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore, sir?" said Hagrid, which sounded eerily like something one of the house elves would say.

"I want you to bring Harry to Little Whinging, Surrey tomorrow night by midnight. Do you understand?" asked Dumbledore, confident in his feeling that Hagrid would be up to the task.

"Yes sir, Professor Dumbledore," affirmed Hagrid. "One thing though… How am I s'posed to get young Harry to Surrey?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Dumbledore with a wink. "Remus, come with me, if you please." Dumbledore and Remus walked off into the shadows of the area, and they were gone.

"Oh, bother!" exclaimed Hagrid, left alone in the middle of the rubble with the cradle. Young Harry was still asleep, and did not stir at all during the conversation that had just taken place.

After an hour of wondering what to do, Hagrid had heard a distinct roar of a motorcycle off in the distance. He panicked, not knowing if it were a Muggle or someone who could help. When he looked up, he saw Sirius Black, looking frantic.

"Hagrid! There's no time!" half-shouted Sirius. "Have you seen Remus?" Hagrid shook his head.

"Remus and Dumbledore just left an hour ago," replied Hagrid.

"Ugh! Well, Hagrid, is Harry still there?" asked Sirius.

"Yes Sirius. Little Harry's still sleepin'," replied Hagrid with a yawn.

"Okay then. Can you hand him to me?" asked Sirius.

"Wha? No! I have strict orders from Dumbledore to take 'im to his aunt and uncle tomorrow night," said Hagrid. "I could never disobey Dumbledore. Never! He seemed to think 'Arry would be safer with his relatives than he would be with anyone else. No offense to you, Sirius."

"Safer? Do you know about the Dursleys' opinion of magic? They'll kick him out if they don't leave him behind while they're on vacation, send him to an orphanage, or worse, _kill him_!" Sirius had raised his voice at the last two words to emphasize his point.

Hagrid looked down at his feet for a few seconds before replying, "Dumbledore has his reasons. Even if they may be a little rash." Hagrid sighed and continued, "He'll be fine. Dumbledore wouldn't let them do anything to Harry. He's got it all planned out already."

"Be that as it may —," Sirius began.

"SIRIUS, DON' ARGUE!" roared Hagrid. Harry turned over in his crib, making Hagrid feel guilty for waking him up.

Knowing that he was fighting a lost cause, Sirius eventually gave in. "Fine," he snapped. "But since you can't Apparate him, use my motorcycle. I don't think I'll need it again." Before Hagrid said anything more, Sirius had vanished with a "_pop_!" and wasn't seen again.

* * *

(A/N: I do not own this section of the story. Except for some details, this excerpt from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone _was mostly written, based off of, and is owned by J. K. Rowling.) 

In the still, evening air on Privet Drive, there was no sound heard, naught but for the slamming of a car door. A cat was perched still upon the brick wall in front of a house with a brass number '4' engraved on it.

The cat was gazing at a particular spot on a corner, and had moved slightly when a man appeared at the whirling of a cloak precisely on that spot.

The old man took out what appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter. He gave it a flick, and one of the streetlights were put out. He repeated this at least eleven more times until all the streetlights were out.

He turned to the cat and said, "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He smiled at the tabby cat, which was not a cat anymore. She had transformed herself into a severe-looking woman with square glasses, matching the pattern around her eyes, an emerald-green cloak, and black hair was drawn up into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked,

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have past a dozen feasts and parties on my way here," said Dumbledore, surprised.

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursley's dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls . . . shooting stars. . . . Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "but that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?" Professor McGonagall blinked in confusion.

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone –"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Gumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, _Voldemort_, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I never will have."

"Only because you're too – well – _noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed this much since Madam Pomfrey told me how much she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that have been – what was that!" Professor McGonagall was startled by movement in the bushes.

"Must have been a cat," sniffed Professor McGonagall. "I can be so jumpy at –," she began, but was interrupted by Dumbledore.

"My dear Minerva, that was no cat," said Dumbledore silently. "More along the lines of a canine." A figure stood up from the bushes and stared at Dumbledore.

"Fenrir!" called out Dumbledore. "What have you heard?" Dumbledore knew from experience that werewolves hated having magic used against them. That was one thing all creatures shared was that quality, werewolves hating it to the umpteenth power. Dumbledore kept his wand held tightly in his pocket, just in case.

"I haven't heard anything, _Professor _Dumbledore," said Fenrir nastily. "I was merely passing through."

"Albus!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall in fright.

"I will ask you one more time," said Dumbledore. "What have you heard?"

"Oh, never mind me," said Fenrir. "Continue with your chat, for I really must be going." Fenrir did not Apparate but somehow seemed to disappear into thin air without a trace.

"Oh dear, Albus!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall after a few moments of silence. "That was… truly frightening," she continued, regaining her composure. "But it made me realize. What will we do if Fenrir Greyback bites young Harry?"

"I truly cannot say, Minerva. I truly cannot say," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. No magical ward could keep a werewolf away from the Dursleys'. Death Eater or otherwise. I shall consult with Remus Lupin upon the matter. But, for now, it appears we have approaching company," Dumbledore continued over the roar of a motorcycle.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir – house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a lightning bolt-shaped scar

"Is that where –" whispered Professor McGonagall tentatively.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I – could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry amd gave him what must have been aver scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – and poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be taking Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"About the werewolf situation, Minerva," began Dumbledore. "I will make arrangements with Lupin, in case the Dursleys aren't careful enough."

"Oh, Albus," said Professor McGonagall, her voice quavering.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A rustling of wind howled through the night air. Fenrir strolled back into the neighborhood and muttered, "At last," and memorized the way to get back to the house. He smirked, and said, "You will be my prey soon, pup. It has already been set into motion. You are now famous for defeating the Dark Lord." He laughed. "A fine trophy you'll turn out to be, Harry Potter – The boy who lived."

* * *

Well, I changed the ending to fit the story. Basically, Fenrir Greyback wants to make Harry into a werewolf, since he would make an excellent trophy to bite. Harry's being famous would crush everyone's hearts when they found out that their savior from the Dark Ages of Voldemort was made into a werewolf. So, of course, Fenrir wants Harry for his own reasons. 

**Review Section**

Kathleen LaCorneille – Wow. This is an interesting review. For starters, I didn't expect Sybill Trelawney to make a big role in the Werewolf Chronicles. If so, she wouldn't appear again, most likely, until Book III. Harry will be getting bitten soon. I'm thinking around four or six. Since he doesn't understand about the magical world, he would not know anything about what is going on. Arabella Figg is the one that would report to Dumbledore about Harry's werewolf affliction, so… yeah… Whether Harry will reject the wolf or not, well, to tell the truth that's still up in the air.

Dumbledore will probably have as big of a part as he did in J. K. Rowling's series; so if that disappoints you, I apologize. _Harry Potter and the Werewolf's Curse _has nothing to do with this, either.

Moonstar – I'm glad you like it! I'll probably continue with my other fics too very soon.


	3. A Family Outing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Otherwise, my name would be J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't be composing music, I'd be rich, and I would be found in England. This does not describe me in any way, shape, or form. The plot I have in store is based loosely off of J.K. Rowling's plot, just with some of my own creativity. If you can call it creativity, that is.

I actually researched the full moon cycles and found dates where the full moon actually occurred in real life.

* * *

**Chapter Two: A Family Outing**

Close to four years had passed since Harry Potter was left on the Dursley's doorstep. Although Privet Drive hadn't changed in the past few years. Everyday, the sun rose on the dew-soaked lawn, decorating the pristine, emerald-green lawns of Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley still spied on the neighbors as usual, and Vernon Dursley was still the director of Grunnings, a drill-making company.

The Dursleys were an average family that despised anything out of the unordinary. Mr. Dursley was a heavy-set man with barely any neck and an extremely large mustache Mrs. Dursley was an extremely thin woman with blonde hair that reached down her abnormally long neck. They both boasted about their son, Dudley, who was a boy that resembled a beach ball with a head, fat arms, and stubby little legs.

Their nephew, Harry Potter, was despised by the Dursleys for reasons he never knew up to that point. Harry could have died for all the Dursleys cared; he was too much unlike them for them to give any notice. Harry was kept in a cupboard under the stairs, where many spiders crawled over his body. The only thing Harry worried about, aside from the horrible living conditions, was the beating that his Uncle Vernon gave randomly, depending on his mood.

Now, as Harry was stirring awake in his bed, his Aunt Petunia was tapping on the door as she did every morning.

"Wake up, boy!" she screeched. "We are going into London to do shopping today, so hurry up and get dressed!"

Harry woke up slowly, hoping that if he played sick, he wouldn't have to go shopping with the Dursleys. Every time he went shopping with them, he was forced to carry as many bags as he could. When they arrived at a store where he might actually enjoy himself, Harry was forced to stay in the car while the Dursleys shopped. It was horrible!

Harry walked out of the cupboard and stumbled into the kitchen where the family was sitting at the table. Uncle Vernon was perusing the newspaper while Dudley was poking his scrambled eggs with a fork. Aunt Petunia was spying out of the kitchen window, as usual, and had made nothing for Harry. So, Harry, being used to this, walked over to the bread box and took out a loaf of bread, unnoticed by his relatives.

Uncle Vernon sighed. "Another killing," he said slamming the paper down on the table. "Why couldn't they come and take this boy? That's the only thing the boy could do to satisfy me is to just find a tree and –,"

"Hush, Vernon!" squawked Aunt Petunia. "Dudders is at the table."

However, Dudley was too interested in his eggs to notice what his parents were saying.

"Popkin?" started Aunt Petunia. Dudley looked up. "We're going into London for some shopping." Dudley just shrugged and speared his eggs with his fork. He then jammed them into his mouth. "So, hurry up with your breakfast." Dudley swallowed.

As they were driving toward London, Uncle Vernon was ranting about one of his favorite rant subjects: _Harry_. Harry was used to his Uncle's raves, so he just stared out of the car window, watching cars pass by.

Dudley was bored after a little while, so he started poking Harry in the ribs. Each poke started to get harder than the last. Harry turned around to glare at Dudley, only receiving a smack in the face from Aunt Petunia.

"How dare you look at my son that way!" she shrieked. Uncle Vernon grunted in agreement, and muttered something.

"Damn fools don't know how to drive," he whispered furiously to himself as a car sped past him, turning into Uncle Vernon's lane without switching on a turn signal.

When the Dursleys had finally reached London, they were piling around for stores. Harry, of course, had to carry the shopping bags the whole time. He was used to it, so he didn't complain. The most peculiar thing that happened while they were out shopping occurred when a tiny man in a violet hat bowed to him in a shop while Uncle Vernon was off in some of the other stores.

"Did you know that man?" Aunt Petunia asked furiously.

"No, I didn't!" exclaimed Harry, still shocked that a complete and total stranger had bowed to him. Dudley was merely screaming for chocolate in the background.

Finally, after all the shopping was done for the day, the Dursleys decided to stay in a hotel for the night, seeing as they were not finished shopping in London. Harry was forced to stay in the car. Harry soon fell asleep with the setting sun falling down into the horizon, ready to make way for the full moon.

However, a man was standing close by. "Finally! I have waited all these years. Now is my chance!" Fenrir Greyback strode over to the Ferrari, waiting for Harry to come out of the car for a bit of fresh air. Growling in annoyance, Fenrir knew he needed the boy to get out of the car then, before the moon came up. Although, when has he ever cared for the destruction of one's personal property? Much less for a Muggle's.

Harry woke up with a start, knowing that someone was watching him outside the car. Harry didn't think it would hurt to open the door for a peek; so he opened the door a crack, only to have it forced open.

"Now! I finally have you!" exclaimed Fenrir, the moon rising above the horizon. Slowly, the werewolf transformed, his bones lengthening and his face lengthened into a muzzle. The whole time, Harry stood, frozen with terror, as Greyback's transformation ended. The werewolf howled, which then made Harry start trying to run. The werewolf easily overtook Harry, and knocked him to the ground with the back of his paw.

"What are you doing?" yelled Harry in surprise. "Who are you?" The werewolf did not, and could not, answer. It did, however, bare its teeth, striking even more fear into Harry. Harry, not knowing what else to do, kicked the werewolf in the chest, not expecting anything to happen. Somehow, the werewolf was knocked away from Harry, allowing Harry to get back in the car before the werewolf shook itself back to consciousness.

Harry shut the door with a _slam_! before settling down in the seat, panting. He looked out of the window to see if the werewolf was still there. It was, and to make matters worse it was trying to pull the door off of the car! Harry began to panic, not even knowing what this creature was. Harry immediately crawled over to the other door and opened it. He then broke into a run, trying to get to the hotel's front door.

The werewolf had stopped trying to yank the door off by then, but had rushed to head Harry off. Harry was merely a few inches away from the werewolf, so right before Harry reached the door, the werewolf jumped in front of it, blocking Harry. The werewolf pounced on Harry again, this time biting into Harry's shoulder. Harry screamed in pain before falling into unconsciousness.

From that moment on, Harry's life would take a drastic turn from its original point with the Dursleys. And there was no going back.

**Review Section**

Zilveren – Heh… yeah, it was dark when I was copying some stuff from the book. So if you saw any typos in the last chapter, I apologize. I think I got rid of the typos though. I'm glad you liked it!

Vcbzdfbhftg – I don't really know if Harry will embrace the wolf. I mean, he'd haveto accept what he is eventually, but his relatives have squashed any belief in magic that Harry had, so it would naturally be hard to accept what he is at first.


	4. Displayed Disappearance

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Otherwise, my name would be J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't be composing music, I'd be rich, and I would be found in England. This does not describe me in any way, shape, or form. The plot I have in store is based loosely off of J.K. Rowling's plot, just with some of my own creativity. If you can call it creativity, that is.

I'm going to combine the second chapter of Philosopher's/ Sorcerer's Stone with this one. That way it won't take too long for Harry to get to Hogwarts. It is also needed to explain the fact of him being a Parselmouth. You've already read this, more than likely, but this helps to move the plot along. It's Harry's first display of his Parselmouth abilities, so...

Enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Displayed Disappearance

The next morning, Harry awoke in his uncle's car. Harry had woken up, feeling nothing but a sharp pain in his right shoulder. Harry looked lifted the collar of his shirt to see a bleeding wound. Seeing this, he felt strangely ill about the damage that might have been done to Uncle Vernon's car, knowing the evident beating that would take place. But, when he looked out the car door, there was not even a scratch after the creature had been trying to open the door to get to Harry.

Harry began asking himself questions about what he could have done to the man that had appeared to have transformed before his very eyes. '_Why did he attack me_?' he thought over and over again. '_What could I have done to make him upset with me_?'

His thoughts were interrupted with the opening of the driver's seat door as Uncle Vernon climbed in, mumbling about poor service and how he'd never stay at that hotel ever again. Aunt Petunia and Dudley soon followed with Aunt Petunia looking livid and Dudley looked as though he were about to bawl at the top of his lungs for not eating breakfast.

Aunt Petunia whirled her face toward Harry and said, "What's your problem, boy? You look as if you were about to get bitten by something," Aunt Petunia said nastily.

Harry thought to himself, '_She doesn't know how right she is_…,'

Uncle Vernon turned to look at Harry. "Where did you get that!" he asked angrily, spit flying from his mouth, pointing at the blood-stained shoulder of Harry's shirt. "That was Dudley's, you idiot!" Harry just looked down without saying anything in reply. "Well!" he prompted.

"Vernon -," Petunia began, but she was cut off by Harry.

"I was bitten by a dog," Harry spat rudely, as though it were the most obvious answer. Even if it was a lie, he knew what would happen if he used any word such as "_transform_."

"Vernon, I think we should go home," said Petunia. She seemed to know more than what she really did. "I think we have done enough shopping."

"Petunia, are you alright?" asked Uncle Vernon. He put a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Vernon," said Petunia, trying to compose herself. "We need to go home. Now!"

"Alright! Alright!" said Uncle Vernon, a little shocked at Petunia's insistence to leave. He twisted the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. They then traveled for the rest of the way to Surrey; no one was speaking a word. Harry and his relatives rarely ever had anything to talk about, so Harry mostly held his tongue around the Dursleys for his own good.

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When Harry and the Dursleys arrived at Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia forced Harry to wash off the blood on his shoulder in the shower. She threw Harry's blood-stained shirt into the washing machine without giving it a second thought.

Harry had barely any energy and he was aching all over his body. He barely could get out of the shower when he was done. When he got over to the counter and put his clothes on, he left the bathroom, feeling dizziness wash over him. He stepped downstairs and would have collapsed onto the floor if he hadn't grabbed the handrail. Harry sidled along the rail and crawled into the cupboard before shutting the door behind him.

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The next few weeks had gone by smoothly, with Harry being locked in the cupboard as usual. But it was soon Harry's fifth birthday. Harry didn't think it would be anything special, since the most the Dursleys had ever given him for his birthday was a piece of toast for breakfast. He was lucky if it had butter.

The strangest thing about this week was that he had been feeling extremely weak. It was almost as if he were ill. Even Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon noticed that Harry had been sickly pale with bloodshot eyes.

"Vernon, if we don't do anything, he might get sick to the point of death," said Aunt Petunia. "I don't really care about the boy, but the neighbors would surely talk if they found that boy was sick and we didn't do anything about it."

"The boy doesn't have ties with our family doctor," grunted Vernon. "The only thing we can do is to send him to Mrs. Figg's. She knows about taking care of illnesses. Somewhat…"

Mrs. Figg was a cat-loving lady who had lived two streets away from Privet Drive. Her house always gave off a scent of rotten cabbage. Although on good days, it smelled like fresh cabbage, Harry was still annoyed by the smell, as he hated cabbage.

"Well, he'll have to stay over at Mrs. Figg's on his birthday then, because she's getting back from vacation in Scotland the day before," sighed Aunt Petunia. She glared at Harry with a seething look as though he meant to become ill. Harry was too weak to just shrug it off, so he just ignored her venomous gaze.

On Harry's birthday, Harry was brought over to Mrs. Figg's by Aunt Petunia. He was feeling much worse than he had and barely had the strength to walk into the house, seeing as the Dursleys hardly gave him any food anyway.

"Harry!" exclaimed Mrs. Figg, rushing up to Harry with open arms, acting as batty as ever. "Come on in! Petunia, I would like to thank you for bringing him over. He hasn't been here in a while, have you?" Mrs. Figg then stared off into space aimlessly.

"Yes, well, I'd best get going then," said Aunt Petunia, shrugging. She walked back to the car where Uncle Vernon was waiting to take his wife back to the house. They drove off and were out of sight in less than a few seconds.

Harry stepped into the house, where a brown cat named Mrs. Truffles had curled up sleeping in front of the doorway. He had almost accidentally stepped on her tail before Mrs. Figg stopped him

"Don't forget, Harry, watch where you are going," said Mrs. Figg, as though she had told him this many times before. She had, but Harry had always forgotten. "Why don't you sit down and I'll show you some of my photo albums?" she offered.

Harry groaned, as this was one of the things about visiting Mrs. Figg he did not enjoy. After making Harry a bowl of potato soup, she grabbed a few photo albums and handed the bowl to Harry.

"There you go," said Mrs. Figg. "That ought to make you feel better." Harry gave a fake smile and let Mrs. Figg open her favorite photo album, which happened to contain many pictures of Mr. Tibbles, the "_smartest_" of her cats. It wasn't long before Harry found himself nodding off to sleep. Mrs. Figg didn't seem to mind, as she kept flipping through the photo album, only stopping when she was through with each of the photo albums.

"Harry, wake up! You can go to sleep downstairs. You aren't looking too good," said Mrs. Figg, feeling his forehead.

Harry nodded and quietly went down into the former basement where there was a renovated guest room. Harry found himself staring out of a window way above him, watching as the final rays of the sun sank down below the horizon.

Harry felt calm wash over him, not even thinking about what had happened almost a month ago.

As soon as Harry had come close to drifting to sleep, he was snapped awake due to strong pains reverberating around his body. Harry was afraid, and confused as he lost all humanity. His bones were slightly growing, as his face stretched forward into a muzzle. He began screaming in pain as his hands curled into paws. His heart rate quickened as black fur began covering his body. He then let out a ferocious howl, signaling the end of the transformation.

Naturally, this howl caught the attention of Mrs. Figg, who had placed an ear to the door. She heard snarling on the other side of the door and was nearly scared out of her wits. She then heard a yelp that sounded as if whatever was in there had taken a chunk out of itself.

Mrs. Figg carefully opened the door, seeing a young, but still dangerous werewolf pup glaring at her. It howled and ran at Mrs. Figg, who had slammed the door shut. A loud _thud! _was heard when the werewolf collided with the door, knocking it unconscious for the remainder of the night.

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When Mrs. Figg woke up the next morning, she went downstairs to find Harry lying in bed. She pulled back the covers to wake him up, she saw that he had no shirt on. She then noticed that he had a scar on his right shoulder in the shape of a bite. There were also many scratches all over Harry's body, as though he had been scratched by an animal.

"Oh God, it wasn't a dream," Mrs. Figg said in shock with her hand on her forehead. "I have no choice," she said to herself going into the living room. She started a fire in the fireplace and took a ceramic jar from the mantel. She tossed a pinch of the powder inside and shouted, "Headmasters Office, Hogwarts!" The furious orange blaze turned a shade of green before Mrs. Figg stepped into it, hurtling through the Floo Network of Wizarding fireplaces. Even if she wasn't talented at using magic, she at least had enough to make Floo Powder work.

She fell out of the fireplace in Dumbledore's office, soot covering her clothes. "Dumbledore!" Mrs. Figg called out. She turned around to see Severus Snape staring at her right in the face.

"What do you wish from Dumbledore, Arabella?" asked Snape coldly. He had a smirk on his face and his left eyebrow was raised. "Dumbledore has gone to meet with Cornelius Fudge, but he should be back soon. Tell me," he started, "why have you come from your… _Muggle_ hideaway? Is it getting too quiet for a Squib in that sleepy little Muggle town called Surrey?"

"No," said Mrs. Figg icily. "The reason I am here is none of your concern. So I would appreciate it if you would shut up and mind your business." Mrs. Figg was shaking with anger with Snape. They never did like each other. What with him being a blood supremacist and her being a Squib.

Then, in a flash of fire, Dumbledore had appeared in front of his desk with Fawkes, his phoenix, circling above him. Dumbledore walked over to Mrs. Figg and said, "Arabella, what brings you here?" Mrs. Figg had a feeling that Dumbledore already knew why she was there.

"Well, you see –" Mrs. Figg began, but Professor McGonagall walked into the office, her jaws shaking with anger.

"Albus, Peeves has been terrorizing the house-elves in the kitchens, again!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. She looked as though she had been pelted with chalkboard erasers, due to the chalk dust covering her robes. "He was floating around, chasing them while clapping erasers together. If I hadn't stopped him…," but she cut herself off, then noticing Mrs. Figg.

"Arabella was just about to tell us why she has come here," Dumbledore explained when he noticed Professor McGonagall's quizzical look. "Go on, tell us."

Dumbledore strode over to a cabinet and opened it. In it, there was a stone basin with a silvery substance swirling around in it that was neither liquid, nor gas.

Dumbledore placed his wand to his head, and pulled out a shining thread from his forehead. He shook the wand and let the strand fall into the basin. He continued to do this several more times until he finally shut the cabinet door, ignoring he stares he had received.

"It was a long visit that I would wish not to discuss," said Dumbledore, shaking his head.

"Well, as I was about to say," Mrs. Figg began, "Harry's Aunt Petunia had taken Harry to my house yesterday, after telling me that he had been sick for the past week. I agreed to take Harry when I came back from Scotland." Mrs. Figg paused for a moment. "He was, however, greatly ill, so I had him go to bed early. Hours later, I had heard a howl coming from his room, so I listened at the door to hear a snarling on the other side of it. I opened the door and saw a werewolf lying in the middle of the floor. I had immediately shut the door, when the werewolf – Harry, I'm certain – ran at the door. He was knocked unconscious for what I believed to be the rest of the night." She continued to recount how she had seen the bites and scratches all over Harry's body.

Snape merely scowled disgustedly, while Professor McGonagall sobbed into her own robes. Dumbledore buried his face in his hands, as he began to speak.

"Arabella, you are to inform the Durselys about Harry's condition and to tell them to lock him in the cupboard extra tightly on the nights of the full moon," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Professor, might I interject?" Snpe asked silkily. "Why can't Potter just stay with Lupin? I'm sure that they would have a… _howling_ good time together."

"Severus, you know perfectly well that Remus can barely keep a roof over his own head, much less another's. We also do not know what would happen if Harry and Remus were to transform together. Remus might try to kill Harry, which is why they cannot know about each other until the time is right." Dumbledore sighed tiredly.

Snape merely snorted.

"I'm sure they would recognize what each other was on first contact," he said.

"Which is why we will have to keep Remus and Harry separate at least until he is eleven, if not older," Dumbledore explained urgently.

"I'll just go then," stated Mrs. Figg. She turned to the fireplace, about to grab another pinch of Floo Powder and throw it into the fire when Dumbledore stopped her.

"Arabella, before you leave, I must tell you this," he began. "Do not let Harry know you are tied to the Wizarding World. We still need you as an undercover observer, now more than ever thanks to Harry's new… furry little problem." Mrs. Figg nodded.

Snape snorted again. Professor McGonagall was still sobbing into her robes.

"We will have to take Harry to the Werewolf Registry at the Ministry of Magic when he reaches the age of eleven," said Dumbledore. "He could get in trouble with the Ministry without being registered by that age. I had hoped he wouldn't have to be exposed to the Wizarding World as soon as he did."

Mrs. Figg nodded again, and took a pinch of Floo Powder from a glass jar. She walked into the fireplace and spun out of sight.

------------------

Harry woke up to find Mrs. Figg at the table in the living room, drinking a mug of coffee while watching the news. He had put a shirt on over his body to cover his scars from the previous night, not knowing that she had already seen them.

"Harry, how are you feeling?" asked Mrs. Figg. She knew what the answer was supposed to be.

"I feel like I've been stabbed into by several hot needles," said Harry. "Other than that, I'm fine." Harry wobbled on his feet, barely even standing up.

Mrs. Figg shook her head and said politely, "Harry, please sit down. I don't want you to fall."

Harry grumbled and said, "I'm fine," right before falling flat onto the floor face first.

"I'll just go ahead and take you back to you relatives'. You'll be alright there," stated Mrs. Figg, pulling Harry up by his wrist.

She led him into the car outside and took him to the Dursleys, where Aunt Petunia was seen watering her begonias on the front lawn.

"The boy wasn't any trouble, I expect," said Aunt Petunia coolly, shooting a spiteful glance at Harry.

"No, he wasn't any trouble at all. Harry, could I speak to your aunt alone, please?" asked Mrs. Figg. Harry shrugged and walked inside.

"Now, what's this all about," Aunt Petunia demanded impatiently, moving on to watering a bed of hydrangeas.

"Well, you see, Harry, your nephew –" Mrs. Figg began, but was interrupted by Aunt Petunia.

"Yes, go on and spit it out," Aunt Petunia urged.

"Harry is a werewolf," Mrs. Figg said finally. Aunt Petunia gave a little scream and dropped her watering can.

"A werewolf!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes," continued Mrs. Figg sadly. "The law states that Harry has to register with the Ministry of Magic by the age of eleven." Aunt Petunia uttered another soft scream at the word "_Magic_." "In the meantime, however, you will need to keep Harry locked securely in the cupboard during full moons. Should he get out, well, you don't need me to describe it to you." Mrs. Figg gave a wry smirk at her last sentence. Aunt Petunia gave an involuntary shudder and fainted right into her hydrangeas.

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Almost six years later, Harry had become used to his transformations. Of course, the transformations never became less painful. The bad thing was that on the full moon, he was forced to change in a cramped cupboard that gave him barely any room to move at all. This, of course, was a nuisance to Harry, as he, like other werewolves, needed to be able to move freely in open spaces. What was worse is that he didn't even know what was happening to him, or what he even was.

Harry was still living at Number Four Privet Drive, much to the dislike of his aunt and uncle, and was asleep in his cupboard under the stairs as the sun rose and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door. His slumber didn't last long, as he was awoken by the usual rapping on the cupboard door by his aunt.

"Up! Get up now!" she commanded shrilly.

Harry woke up with a start as his aunt continued to tap the door.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard the tapping of her footsteps as she walked into the kitchen, and the sound of a frying pan being placed on the stove. Harry rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember if there was something special about the day. He then groaned as he remembered that it was Dudley's birthday.

Harry then heard his aunt walk back to the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded impatiently.

"Nearly," Harry answered weakly.

"Well, get a move on. I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything to be perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned again.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…," he answered hurriedly. He did not want to upset his Aunt Petunia on this day of all days.

Dudley's birthday – how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He eventually found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was fully dressed, he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. However since the incident in the hotel parking lot six years before, his eyes became flecked with spots of amber, turning fully amber when he was angered. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she answered sharply. "And don't ask questions."

_Don't ask questions _– that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, for his hair simply grew that way – all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said stupidly, looking up at his mother and father with a horrified expression plastered on his face. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a Dudley tantrum boiling up, began shoveling bacon into his mouth as fast as possible before Dudley got a chance to flip the table over in his anger.

Aunt Petunia must have sensed the upcoming tantrum as well, because she bent in front of Dudley and placed her hands on his face, and she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that alright?" She was practically throwing herself at Dudley's feet, begging him not to start another furious rampage.

Dudley thought for a moment, his pudgy face screwed up in calculation. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty. . . thirty. . ."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair. Harry snorted.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplae, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a momentarily leap of joy. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Harry, on the other hand, was forced to stay with Mrs. Figg, a mad old cat lover who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house reeked of rotten cabbage and Mrs. Figg always pulled out multiple photo albums that contained photographs of every single cat she had ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy," snapped Aunt Petunia.

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there – or rather, as though he was something very nasty that had no comprehension of what they said, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"She's on vacation in Majorca," Aunt Petunia snapped again.

"You could just leave me here," Harry suggested hopefully. He could be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer.

Aunt Petunia looked like she had just swallowed a lemon at Harry's suggestion.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, glaring at Aunt Petunia angrily. However, they didn't believe him.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, ". . . and leave him in the car. . . ."

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone. . . ."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying – it had been years since he really cried – but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Diddydums, don't cry. Mummy won't let him ruin your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I . . . don't . . . want . . . t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang – "Oh, good lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy – and funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly . . ."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already ridiculed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. The clothes he wore often had sometimes been patched due to the condition they appear in after full moon nights. Next morning, however, he has gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he tried to explain that he _couldn't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.

On the other hand, he'd gotten in terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was to go wrong. It was worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. His favorite subject to complain about was normally Harry, but this time, he was complaining about motorcyclists. Harry was so wrapped up in his euphoria about being able to go to the zoo that he didn't notice what Uncle Vernon was ranting about.

". . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," Uncle Vernon grumbled as a motorcycle sped past them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle last night," Harry piped in. "It was flying. . ."

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" roared Uncle Vernon, his purple face pulsating with anger. He had nearly crashed into another driver who flashed a rude hand signal back at Uncle Vernon.

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

As soon as he said this, Harry wished he didn't say anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated most about Harry, other than his persistent questions, were his references to his dreams.

Harry mentioned that he saw flashes of green light in a few of his dreams to Aunt Petunia when he was younger. Aunt Petunia went very pale and snapped back with, "Don't talk about things like that! It was . . . probably just the traffic light at which your parents killed." Harry wasn't too sure he believed her though.

He even mentioned the incident in the hotel parking lot years ago. All he knew was that since then, he was forced to go to bed extremely early once or twice a month since then. Harry never knew why, but he always felt extremely weak after the night was over and was always extremely tired too. As Harry got older, he just associated this behavior with insomnia.

When the incident was mentioned, Aunt Petunia had to force him to be quiet in earshot of Uncle Vernon, though he had known about the incident and felt compelled to throw Harry out as soon as possible. A red envelope had appeared soon after Uncle Vernon prepared to throw Harry out. Aunt Petunia had taken the envelope into another room and Harry could have sworn he had heard a booming voice in the room shouting at Petunia for a brief moment before she finally exited, saying that they couldn't throw Harry out into the streets. Uncle Vernon complained, but Aunt Petunia snapped back and accepted no argument.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with happy families. Children passed by holding brightly colored balloons while holding onto their parents' hands. The howling of teenagers imitating monkeys was heard nearby ("Idiotic children," grumbled Uncle Vernon.). Even the pigeons were enjoying themselves by pecking at the dropped popcorn on the ground.

While Dudley and Piers were bought large chocolate ice creams, Harry, because the smiling lady in the van had asked what he wanted before Aunt Petunia could shove him along, was bought a cheap lemon ice pop.

'_It wasn't bad, either_,' Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head which looked remarkably like Dudley. The only thing was, it had black hair rather than blond.

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to put a little distance from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of Harry Hunting. Though Harry had rushed to catch up when a familiar man, crouched by the wolf cage, had glanced at him interestedly. (I'll give you a hint: It's not Greyback. Not that it has anything to do with the plot, but . . .)

When they got to the zoo restaurant, they had a burger and some ice cream for dessert. Dudley threw a tantrum when he got his knickerbocker glory, screaming that it didn't have enough ice cream on top. Uncle Vernon bought him another one while Harry had the first one forcefully shoved into his hands. Uncle Vernon gave an annoyed nod to Harry, signaling that he could finish the first. Harry knew that this day was too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Harry passed by a few lizards sunbathing under a heat lamp that was glaring right onto a rock. A mere garter snake was lazing around in the adjacent compartment. Harry thought he could hear "So hungry . . . feed me. . . ." hissed at him behind the glass.

Dudley and Piers were all excited over the prospect of seeing a boa constrictor on the far side of the box-shaped room, but were immediately disappointed when they saw it lying on a rock behind its display glass, staring wistfully at Dudley, who was pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," Dudley whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped the glass with his fingertip. The snake did not even flinch.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered arrogantly. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake continued to stare into empty space.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He immediately waddled away to look at a rattlesnake a few windows away. Uncle Vernon and Piers followed him.

Harry wandered over to the tank and looked intently at the snake. There was a rock upon which the snake was perched on surrounded by ankle-deep water. The snake was so languid that Harry could have sworn it had died of boredom. Harry supposed he would have to if he had to lie behind a glass all day with no company except people on the other side who would drum their fingers on the glass, trying to get him to move. After all, it was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom. At least he was let out by his Aunt Petunia every now and then.

Then, right as Harry was about to step away from the glass, the snake lifted its head and did something that greatly startled Harry.

_It winked_.

Harry blinked. He then looked around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked back.

The snake jerked its head at Uncle Vernon, Dudley, and Piers, who were huddled by a window, trying to get the rattlesnake to move. It then raised its eyes to the ceiling, giving Harry a look that said quite plainly:

"_I get that all the time_."

"I can tell," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying." To his great surprise, the snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

**Boa Constrictor, Brazil**.

"Was it nice there?" asked Harry. The snake drooped its head as it continued jabbing its tail at the sign, meaning for Harry to read on: **This specimen was bred in the zoo**. "Oh, I see – so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling towards them as fast has he could.

"Out of the way, you," he ordered, shoving Harry to the floor, knocking his glasses askew. Harry had fallen hard on the concrete floor, trying to readjust his glasses.

What had ensued next was unforgettable and had happened so fast, no one had seen it take place. Dudley and Piers were pressed hard against the glass and, in the blink of an eye, had fallen over the barrier and into the water. The snake had slid over their bodies, lifted itself over the barrier, and was slithering across the concrete floor towards the door.

It had stopped for a moment to glance at Harry. "Brazil, here I come. . . . Thanksss, amigo," it hissed in a low voice, sliding past a woman in a pink dress, who had screamed in terror and had jumped onto a nearby stool. The owner of the reptile house, who was fruitlessly trying to pull Dudley out of the boa constrictor exhibit, was in apparent shock. Eventually, the owner had given up trying to lift Dudley and had run off to try and pursue the snake, leaving Dudley's piggish face to fall back into the water from the small height at which it was pulled.

The assistant owner of the reptile house kept repeating, "But the glass, where did the glass go?"

The zoo director led them into his study. He had brewed Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon a batch of sweet tea while apologizing over and over again. Piers and Dudley only chattered their teeth while Harry was trying to suppress his laughter. As far as Harry had seen, the snake had only slid over them, but Piers and Dudley had turned the whole story into a fantasy where the snake had tried to bite Dudley's leg off and squeeze the life out of Piers. Harry only wished this were true, but then again, when did his desires ever come true?

The situation worsened when Piers added, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you Harry?"

Uncle Vernon had driven Piers home and had shoved Harry into his cupboard, shouting between furious pants, "Cupboard – stay – no meals," before slamming the door and padlocking it shut.

Harry had lain in the cupboard for what seemed to be an eternity; however Aunt Petunia had snuck into Harry's room to force some medicine into Harry's mouth that knocked him to sleep for hours, waking up the next morning with scratches all over his body.

* * *

** Review Section**

Spastic-Fire-Wolf -- Yeah, I enjoyed the Dursleys' descriptions too.

Winged Cat -- As you can see, I didn't forget. XD

Moonblaze Starfire -- You'll just have to wait and see. I'm not revealing anything... (shifty eyes)

Timydamonkey -- Well, the thing is, I doubt Harry could have completely gotten away. I mean, yeah, like you said... He is only four. About the whole Dumbledore-and-McGonagall-being-worried thing... McGonagall was terrified of Fenrir Greyback (for obvious reason). Dumbledore, on the other hand, is a Legilimens, though he doesn't brag about it. He could tell what Greyback's intentions were, but did not know if he would actually succeed and getting Harry. Did I help clear that up? I sort of knew someone was gonna get confused, so I had an explanation ready just in case.

Torn-and-Broken -- Thanks for the compliment. You're a good writer too, but I would suggest using Microsoft Word or something so that your whole fic isn't lumped into one big paragraph. Just trying to lend a helping hand!

* * *

Well, I should go ahead and inform you that it might be a while before I post again. I'll try to get it up as soon as possible but Marching Band is coming up, and it's right around the corner. So... yeah... If I can update within the next few days, I will. 


	5. The Hut on the Rock and Rubeus Hagrid

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Otherwise, my name would be J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't be composing music, I'd be rich, and I would be found in England. This does not describe me in any way, shape, or form. The plot I have in store is based loosely off of J.K. Rowling's plot, just with some of my own creativity. If you can call it creativity, that is.

* * *

**  
Chapter Four: The Hut on the Rock**

By the time Harry was released from his cupboard, the escape of the boa constrictor had spread through Surrey like wildfire. All of the neighbors were gossiping about and frankly, it was about Harry. Piers had apparently told his mother, the biggest gossip in town (second only to Aunt Petunia, of course), who related the story to anyone she could while adding sobs in.

The neighbors even spoke of strange noises that they heard from Number Four. Hearing whispers all around her made Aunt Petunia furious. This forced her to double her efforts to keep Harry in the cupboard as much as possible until about a month later.

Though Harry was glad school was over, there was still no way to escape Dudley and his gang. Every day, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid. But, seeing as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. All the rest of them were quite content to join Dudley in his favorite pastime: Harry Hunting.

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering up and down Magnolia Crescent thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a very small ray of hope. When September came, he would be going off to secondary school at Stonewall High and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley, as well as Piers Polkiss, had been accepted to Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Harry was overjoyed at this prospect, but Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were going to Stonewall High with him. Dudley obviously thought this was very funny.

"Didn't you ever hear?" asked Dudley with a wide smirk plastered on his face. "They stuff people's heads down the toilets the first day at Stonewall," he continued while licking a popsicle. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry, "I'd feel sorry for the poor toilet, seeing as it has never had anything as horrible as your head down it – it might get sick." Then, as usual, Harry ran off before Dudley could work out any retaliation to Harry's insult.

Dudley had been taken to London with Aunt Petunia to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg seemed to be less fond of her cats, seeing as she had tripped over Tufty while she was carrying a cup of boiling hot tea. She let Harry watch television and even gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she had baked it several years ago.

When Harry was dropped back off at the Dursleys', Dudley was parading around the living room in front of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried around knobbly sticks that were used for hitting each other behind the teachers' backs. Apparently, this was supposed to be good training for later life.

As Dudley twirled his stick in the air, only to have it fall with a clang onto the floor, Uncle Vernon said that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia sobbed tears of joy, not believing how handsome and grown-up he looked. She smacked Harry over the head when he started to gag.

* * *

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry walked in, ready to fry up breakfast for the Dursleys. He could scarcely believe that Aunt Petunia was bent over the counter until he noticed that she had lifted what appeared to be dirty gray rags out of the pale gray water. 

Harry tried not to gag when he asked, "What's this rubbish?" Her lips pursed as they always did when he dared to ask a question.

"This is your new school uniform," she said, trying not to sound bitter.

Harry looked back into the sink, saying, "Oh, I didn't realize that the school was underwater." He knew that on any normal day, he would have to duck a blow from a soapy frying pan.

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. I'm dyeing Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

"Somehow, I highly doubt that," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that, boy?" Aunt Petunia snarled.

"Nothing!" Harry said, raising his hands defensively. She stared at his hands warily as though he look like he were about to shove her to the ground and strangle her.

Harry thought it was best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think of how he would be ridiculed on his first day at Stonewall High – like he had climbed into piles of old elephant skin, more than likely. He thought it was bad enough that he felt sick yet again.

Although he was used to this by now, since it happened every month. He always felt sick and was forced to take super strong sleeping pills in the middle of the day during the week. Harry didn't ask questions. He knew that the reply would come out the same as it always did. "_Don't ask questions_!"

Dudley waddled into the kitchen, followed by Uncle Vernon, both had wrinkled noses from the stench of the dye. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as he did in routine while Dudley banged his Smelting Stick on the table loudly out of sheer boredom.

Then, the usual click of the mail slot and fluttering of letters through the slot cut through the silence (minus Dudley's banging, of course).

"Get the mail, Dudley," grunted Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it," said Dudley idly, not wanting to stop banging his Smelting Stick on the table.

"Get the mail, Harry," Uncle Vernon wheezed.

"Make Dudley get it," said Harry, feeling too ill to move.

"Poke him with your Smelting Stick, Dudley," Uncle Vernon suggested.

Harry ducked under the Smelting Stick and went to retrieve the mail. Three objects were lying on the doormat: A postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wright, a brown envelope that looked like the electric bill, and – Harry rubbed his eyes – _a letter for Harry_.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in all his life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even gotten rude notes asking for his books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

**Mr. H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs**

**4 Privet Drive**

**Little Whinging**

**Surrey**

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter _H_.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke over the continuing banging of the Smelting Stick.

Harry strode back into the kitchen, still glancing at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust as he placed it back on the table, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Petunia, who was now sticking Harry's clothes on a clothesline hanging above the sink. "She ate a funny whelk. . . ."

"Dad!" said Dudley, freezing as he was about to poke Harry in the ribs with the Smelting Stick. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was on the verge of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was snatched away by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" Harry shouted fiercely, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" laughed Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face swapped shades of red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. It didn't stop there. The color drained from Uncle Vernon's face, leaving it the same grayish white as the porridge in the bowl in front of him.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped in horror.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. Harry hoped so, for then he would grab his letter and try to make his getaway.. All she did was grab her throat and make a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored (which was extremely hard for him to accomplish). He tapped his father on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he shouted.

"_I_ want to read that letter," said Harry, shaking with fury, "as it's _mine_."

Aunt Petunia gasped when she looked into Harry's eyes, as though she had seen a ghost.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back into its envelope.

Harry didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted, seething with fury.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley, trying to reach for the envelope.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley had a furious, but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole. Harry won, but Dudley shoved Harry to the floor, leaving Harry to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon, did you see his eyes?" asked Aunt Petunia, her voice still quivering. "They changed color from green to amber. . . ."

"Petunia, I'm sure it has nothing to do with – " Uncle Vernon began, but he was interrupted by Aunt Petunia.

"Vernon, don't give me that! You know the people _they_ hung around with!" she shrieked.

"I mean, it would possibly be safer for the family if he went off to this –" Aunt Petunia continued.

"No!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "We are not having _that_ under our roof!" He then took a deep breath.

"Vernon, look at the address – how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?" asked Aunt Petunia.

"Watching – spying—might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want –"

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen floor.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer. . . . Yes, that's best . . . we won't do anything. . . ."

"But—"

"Didn't you just say we were not having that in the house? Didn't we swear that when we took him in, we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

"Vernon, we also have to get him registered at some sort of Registry," Aunt Petunia choked out.

"No!" Uncle Vernon roared. "If he gets in trouble with _their_ law," Harry could have sworn that Uncle Vernon had given a manic grin, "then he'll be out of _our_ lives forever."

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" Harry asked immediately. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell down from the ceiling. He took a couple of deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er – yes, Harry – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking . . . you're really getting a bit big for it . . . we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for guests, one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. He could hear Dudley's furious screams downstairs that he didn't want Harry up in his room. He "needed it for other things." Harry could only guess what those other things were.

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today, though, he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

* * *

Next morning, breakfast was a rather quiet affair. Dudley had tried everything he could think of. He had whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the roof of the greenhouse, and he still didn't get his room back. Harry was staring at his bowl of grits, thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he had opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept exchanging dark looks. 

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Aunt Petunia grimaced as he heard a flower pot filled with dirt be knocked onto the carpet.

Dudley then called out, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was more difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After about a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting Stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, holding Harry's letter high above his head.

"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley – go – just go."

Harry paced back and forth in his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.

* * *

Harry's repaired alarm clock went off at six o'clock the next morning. Harry felt sicker than usual, seeing as he was slower than he normally was at getting up. Harry got himself dressed, went downstairs, and walked over to the front door. 

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat – something _alive_!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been Uncle Vernon's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly trying to keep Harry from getting the letter. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour before ordering him to make him a cup of tea for his nerves. Harry shuffled off, staring at the floor, into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived and Uncle Vernon had already torn the envelopes into shreds before Harry got a chance to ask for them.

Uncle Vernon stayed home from work to nail up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia, who was holding a fruitcake she had just made, "if they can't _deliver_ them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon," said Aunt Petunia, handing Uncle Vernon a slice of fruitcake. Harry privately agreed with her.

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, who was trying to hammer the nail in with the piece of fruitcake Petunia had brought him.

Aunt Petunia turned to Harry and handed him the sleeping pills, which weren't working as well as they used to. Harry tried to go to sleep, but he had visions of being chased through a parking lot by a vicious, wolf-like creature.

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning on the floor, his clothes torn as usual. He found a dreadful set of teeth marks on his arm, meaning that he had bitten himself in his sleep. Harry took a paper towel and wrapped it around the bite. 

Harry then went downstairs into the living room, where he saw his uncle taking envelopes from a complete stack, smiling as he burned each and every one of them one at a time. Harry could have sworn he could hear him whistling "Tiptoe through the Tulips" as he started boarding up the windows soon after.

On Saturday, things started to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy, trying to find someone to complain to. Aunt Petunia had thrown several letters into the blender and had thrown the rest down into the garbage disposal unit.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement, while poking random objects with his Smelting stick.

* * *

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen looking rather tired and ill, but happy. "No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, missing the toast by a few inches, "no damn letters today –" 

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head before he could finish his sentence. Next moment, no less than thirty or forty letters came tumbling out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one –

"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon screamed, seizing Harry by the waist and throwing him unceremoniously into the hall. When Dudley and Aunt Petunia had run out with their arms covering their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door in fury and bolted it shut. Harry could still hear the letters flooding the room, bouncing off of the walls and linoleum floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but was pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache that no one dared to argue. Ten minutes later Uncle Vernon had pulled away the boards that barricaded the front door. They had climbed into the car, Dudley sniffing in the back seat because Uncle Vernon had hit him round the head for trying to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. Dudley did manage to sneak his Smelting stick though.

They drove for what seemed like hours. Uncle Vernon kept taking a sharp turn every now and then, muttering, "Shake them off, shake them off." Eventually, they reached London, where they parked in the parking lot of the hotel they stayed at six years ago. It was a gloomy looking hotel on the outskirts of London, and it gave Harry bad memories of the incident. Since then, he had been forced to take sleeping pills at least once a month, waking up to find a multitude of scars marring his body.

Harry had to sleep in a room with Dudley, who had complained about the lack of a television to watch his shows on. Dudley was soon snoring, leaving Harry wide awake, staring outside the window and watching the lights of speeding cars, wondering. . . .

* * *

For breakfast the next morning, they ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes for breakfast the next day. As Harry was fiddling with a single tomato left on his plate, the manager of the hotel walked to their table, holding up an envelope. 

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got an 'undred of these at the front desk." She turned the letter so that the address faced Harry and the Dursleys.

**Mr. H. Potter**

**Room 17**

**Railview Hotel**

**Cokeworth **

Harry made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon slapped his had out the way. The woman stared, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her out of the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, looked around, shook his head, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared under a curtain of heavy rainfall.

The raindrops pelted the roof of the car like bullets. Dudley moaned.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a _television_."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday – and you could usually count on Dudley knowing the days of the week, seeing as the TV Guide was his calendar – then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun – unless you count the day after Harry's birthday six years ago, when he woke up in extreme pain in Mrs. Figg's spare bedroom. Even just last year, Harry had received an old coat hangar and a pair Uncle Vernon's old, custard yellow socks. Still, you didn't turn eleven everyday.

Uncle Vernon was walking back to the car with an insane, twisted grin plastered on his piggy face. He was carrying a long, thin package in his arms and ignored Aunt Petunia when she asked what he had bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he exclaimed. "The damn fools won't dare follow us out here. Come on! Everyone out!" He pulled Harry out of the car by his ear, earning a reproachful glare from Harry. Aunt Petunia and Dudley climbed out of the car, immediately getting soaked as if they had fallen into the ocean just several feet away.

It was, of course, very cold outside the car. The winds had picked up, hitting Harry with a spray of seawater. He could barely see, through the curtain of torrential downpour, that Uncle Vernon was pointing at a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable-looking shack you could imagine. One thing was for certain, there was no television in there.

"Severe storm warning tonight!" Uncle Vernon said gleefully, looking as though he were giddy enough to jump into the choppy water and swim to the hut on the rock himself. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man sidled up to them on his cane. He pointed to a flimsy-looking rowboat that was tied to a weak wooden peg by a rotten lasso of rope. It was bobbing up and down in the furious, iron-gray water nearby.

"I've already gotten us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, holding up four paper bags up for the rest to see. "Everyone get in!"

It was even colder in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed to be hours, but was only minutes, they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way into the broken-down house.

The inside smelled horrible to Harry, but Uncle Vernon started dancing around on the rotten floorboards in glee. Uncle Vernon then fished out his rations from the inside of his bag. As it turned out, his rations were just a bag of chips and a banana for each of them. While Uncle Vernon wasn't looking, Dudley snatched Harry's food, leaving him with nothing. Not that Uncle Vernon would do anything about it, but Harry was not feeling hungry anyway. He had his mind set on the letters. Hopefully, the house would be so full of them, he'd be able to grab one and stuff it in his pocket.

When everyone had finished their chips (minus Harry, of course), Uncle Vernon snatched up the bags and tried to start a feeble fire with them. All the bags did was shrivel up in smoke.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" Uncle Vernon asked cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Apparently, he didn't think that the sender would attempt to go through the trouble of sending the letters to Harry all the way out in the middle of a violent storm. Harry privately agreed, but this thought had the opposite effect on him as it did on his uncle.

As night fell, the storm grew even more furious. The waves crashed against the walls of the hut, but this seemed to place Uncle Vernon in a better mood. Aunt Petunia squealed in fright when she found a pile of dirty, moldy rags, which, Harry assumed, were blankets. She passed them out, Dudley getting the largest and thickest. She gave Harry one that was severely moth-eaten and smelled like sick. Harry grimaced and tossed it into the corner when Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.

The storm intensified outside, and Harry couldn't sleep. He was curled up on the floor with nothing to keep him warm while Dudley was rolled up on a moth-eaten sofa. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shared the lumpy bed in the other room, sleeping peacefully through the virulent storm. Dudley's snores seemed to have intensified with the storm, but they were still drowned out by the low rolls of thunder that pounded outside. Harry turned and glanced at the lighted face of Dudley's glow-in-the-dark watch on Dudley's fat wrist, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa. It was ten minutes until midnight, meaning that Harry would be turning eleven any moment now.

Harry watched the minutes tick by on the watch.

Five minutes to go. Harry glanced up at the ceiling, hoping that it wouldn't collapse do the heaviness of the storm.

Three minutes to go. Was that the waves that were slapping hard on the rock like that? At two minutes on the countdown, Harry could hear the crunching of pebbles as Harry thought the rock was crumbling away into the sea.

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds . . . twenty . . . ten . . . nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him – three . . . two . . . one . . .

BOOM.

Harry snapped his attention to the door. Someone, or something, was standing outside the door.

* * *

**  
Chapter Five: Rubeus Hagrid**

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" Dudley asked stupidly, rubbing his beady little eyes. He groped around for his Smelting stick.

There was a crashing noise behind them and Uncle Vernon was sliding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands – which explained what the long, thin package carried.

"Who's there?" he shouted, his voice shaking with fear. "I warn you – I'm armed!" He pointed the rifle at the door.

There was a smash and the door flung open with such force that it was knocked off of its hinges. With a deafening crash, it landed on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing at the door. His face was almost completely hidden behind long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard. You could barely make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, bending his head down so that it did not hit the ceiling. He reached down, picked up the fallen door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm was diminished a little. The gigantic man then turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey, I can promise yeh that. . . ."

He strode over to where Dudley sat on the sofa, frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger

Dudley squeaked in terror and scampered over to his mother, where he hid behind his mother, whose thin body did not provide much protection. Uncle Vernon hustled over to shield his wife, still brandishing his rifle.

"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle-like eyes were crinkled into a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made am odd noise as though he were a rat being trodden on.

"I d-d-demand you leave at once, sir!" he stammered. "You are b-b-breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, you great prune," grunted the giant. He leaned over the back of the sofa, reached over to Uncle Vernon's rifle, and grabbed it. He then proceeded to bend it into a knot as easily if it were made of rubber, and then chucked it out of one of the broken windows.

Uncle Vernon made a noise similar to the one he had made just seconds before.

"Anyway – Harry," said the giant, turning his large back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat for yeh here – I mighta sat on it at one point, but it won't taste no differ'n.

He reached into an enormous inside pocket and pulled out a slightly crushed cardboard box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry _written on it in green icing.

Harry looked up at the giant, who was staring at Harry's right shoulder apprehensively. Harry wanted to say his thanks, but the words were caught in his throat. He then asked, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"What about that tea, eh?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger, mind."

His eyes fell on the burnt, shriveled chip bags and he snorted with laughter. He pulled out a pink umbrella, walked over to the fireplace, tapped the chip bags in the fireplace (which looked like it hadn't been used for years), and a fire was glowing in the hearth. It filled the whole hut with a flickering light and Harry felt the warmth flood over him as though he had plunged himself back into the storm again.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began pulling out a copper kettle, a squashed pack of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.

"Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead. It's pretty delicious, actually. But, then again, at your age, you'd probably prefer butterbeer," he said, more to himself than Harry.

Soon, the hut was filled with the sound of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while Hagrid was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley. Don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry as Dudley had stolen his feeble rations earlier. He had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody was about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Just call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone else at Hogwarts does. An' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts of course."

"Er – no," said Harry.

Hagrid looked paralyzed with shock.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"_Sorry_?" barked Hagrid, throwing a dark stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows, huddled together in fright. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh ever wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?"

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered angrily "Now jus' wait one second! Did yeh even know about yer, uh . . . condition?" Hagrid added a bit of tenseness to the last word.

"What condition?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.

At this, Hagrid turned to the Dursleys. He leapt to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to blow up enough to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys backed away into the corner.

"Do you mean to tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy – this boy – knows nothing; abou' – about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad.

"I know _some_ things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and I can read and stuff."

Hagrid simply waved it off and said, "I mean about _our_ world. _Your_ world. _My_ world. Yer _parents' world_."

"What world?" asked Harry. "All I know is that I get a sleeping pill forced down my throat once per month."

Hagrid looked as though he were trying not to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed. "YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOU DRUG HIM EVERY MONTH?"

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whimpered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said, trying to reason with himself. "I mean, they're _famous_. You're _famous_."

"What? My – my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know . . . yeh don' know . . ." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, transfixing Harry with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don't know what yeh _are_?" he asked finally.

Uncle Vernon then cut across before Harry could reply.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"

A braver man the Vernon Dursley would have probably run into the other room out of pure terror. Uncle Vernon, however, was planted where he was, though he was frozen in fear. Hagrid glared at him with a fury in his eyes. When Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years! One thing I don't know is how could you keep it a secret that he is a werewolf!" Hagrid then paled at the last sentence. "I shouldn'ta said that. I shouldn'ta said that. . . ."

"I'm a what?" asked Harry, trembling.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil your heads in heated bubotuber pus, the both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry – yer a wizard."

There was silence in the hut. Only the sea and the whistling of the wind could be heard.

"I'm a _what_?" Harry asked again.

"A wizard o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harry stretched out his hand, but before opening the envelope, he had just thought of something.

"Hagrid, you said something about me being a werewolf. What did you mean by that?" asked Harry.

"Well Harry – yeh were bitten by a werewolf, abou' say . . . six years ago," answered Hagrid, looking anxious. "We'll have to get you registered today, o' course."

"Registered?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, with the Werewolf Registry," said Hagrid. "Go on, read yer letter."

The letter was addressed in emerald-green ink. On the front, it was addressed to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled the letter out of the envelope and read:

** Hogwarts School**

_of_** Witchcraft **_and_** Wizardry**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted

at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please

find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no

later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

**Minerva McGonagall**

Minerva McGonagall,  
_Deputy Headmistress_

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and Harry could not decide which one he should ask first. After a few minutes, he worked up the courage to ask, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me!" exclaimed Hagrid. He slapped his large forehead with his trash can-sized hand before reaching into his overcoat. He pulled out a living owl with ruffled feathers (some of its feathers were missing). Hagrid then pulled out a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth, he scrawled a quick note that Harry could read upside down.

**Dear Professor Dumbledore,**

**Given Harry his letter.  
Taking him to buy his things later today after getting him registered at the Werewolf Registry.**

**Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.**

**  
Hagrid**

Hagrid rolled up the note and gave it to the owl, who clamped the note in its beak. Hagrid walked over to an open window and tossed the owl out into the storm. He then came beak and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry soon realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, rubbing his forehead with his hand. At that moment, however, Uncle Vernon jumped into the firelight, looking mortified but very angry.

"He's not going!" he shouted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," Hagrid said with a snort.

"A what?" asked Harry, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid," it's what we call nonmagic folk like them." Hagrid pointed at the trembling Dursleys. "An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish!" growled Uncle Vernon. "We tried to stamp it out of him! We knew we couldn't stop him from turning into that ferocious beast every month, but we kept him asleep so he wouldn't pay any attention to it. Otherwise, that boy would ask questions!"

"You _knew_?" asked Harry in shock. "You _knew_ I'm a – a wizard? You _knew_ I'm a werewolf?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia incredulously, speaking for the first time, her bony lower jaw trembling in a mixture of anger and fear. "_Knew_! Of Course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted slut of a sister being what she was? Oh she got a letter just like that one and disappeared off to that – that _school_ – and came home every summer with her pockets full of frogspawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one in our family who saw he for what she was – a freak! But as for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that. They were proud of having a – a witch in the family!"

She stopped to take in a furious breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been bursting to say this for years.

"Then she met that Potter tramp at school and they left and got married and had you. Of course I knew you'd be the same, just as strange, just as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and then we were stuck with you! You have been nothing but an ungrateful waste of space and hopefully, if karma even exists, you would meet the same sticky end as her! Oh, but of course it didn't end there! You then got yourself bitten by a werewolf while we were shopping in London. Ever since that day, you have attracted rumors about our family when you fell ill. Do you _know_ how many of our neighbors thought we had underfed you? You lost weight after each month, so of course that made everyone talk! I couldn't look Mrs. Polkiss in the face for weeks because of _you_!" She shouted this last word, hoping to make an effect on the listeners in the room.

Harry had gone white with anger. As soon as he found his voice, he bellowed, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping to his feet, shaking with fury. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not even knowin' his own legacy when every kid in the Wizarding world grew up knowing his name!"

"But why? What happened?" asked Harry. He seemed to be confused about the entire situation.

Hagrid calmed down and his expression flashed from anger to anxiety.

"I wasn't expectin' this," muttered Hagrid. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore informed me, that you would be so clueless about your identity. But I have ter tell yeh – yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'"

He shot a dirty look at the Dursleys, who continued to cower in the corner. Dudley had his Smelting stick raised in defense.

"Put that down. 'Snot like it's gonna protect you from nothin'," said Hagrid. "Well, I'll tell yeh everythin' the best I can – mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', Dumbledore doesn't share everything he knows. . . ."

He sat down and gazed at the fire intently, as though he was expecting something to pop out of it. After a few seconds, he then said, "It begins, I suppose with – with a person called – but it's incredible yeh don't know his name. Everyone in our world knows –"

"Who?"

"Well – I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. They're still goin' 'round, trying to catch his old followers. Thanks to him, werewolves are no longer trusted in the Wizarding –" Hagrid cut off. He suddenly looked scared. "Harry, werewolves are considered dangerous by almost everyone in the Wizarding world. They always have been. The fact is, they kill even though they have no control over their actions during full moon. And it doesn't help that berks like Fenrir Greyback are runnin' around, bitin' kids left an' right, either.

"Anyway, see, there was this wizard who went . . . bad. As bad you can go. Worse, Worse than worse. His name was . . ."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Nah – can't spell it. All right . . . His name was Lord Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Please don't make me say it again. Anyway this – this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was getting' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust. You didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches . . . terrible things happened.

"He used werewolves to attack those who didn't support his ideals. Fenrir Greyback was the main one. He bit several children, includin'you, Harry. Although his intentions for bitin' you were differen', seein' as yer famous and all," Hagrid said with the faint traces of a sad smile.

"On'y thing that was standin' against him was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the mystery is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before . . . probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em . . . maybe he thought he wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, You-Know-Who wanted ter kill you, Harry. I mean, most everyone knows that he marched up to yer house, presumably alone, an' – an' –"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn, drawing scandalized looks from Aunt Petunia.

"Sorry," Hagrid apologized. "But it's that sad – knew yer mum an' dad an' nicer people yeh couldn't find – anyway . . ." Hagrid drew himself back to an upright position, his eyes still watery.

"You-Know-Who killed 'em himself. An' then – an' this is the real mist'ry of the thing – he tried to kill you too. He wanted ter make a clean job of it, I expect. Or, maybe, he just killed without remorse then. But, for some reason, he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that scar on your forehead? That is a cursed scar, just like the one on your shoulder. He tried ter kill yeh, but he couldn't do it. That's why yer famous, Harry. No one lived after he decided ter kill 'em. You're the only survivor of the dreaded Killing Curse: _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry could see, as Hagrid was explaining this, a flash of green light in his mind's eye. It was clearer than it had ever been before. Then, Harry had visions of being chased through the hotel parking lot many years ago, only to end up being bitten by his pursuer. As these visions played through Harry's mind, he could hear a cold, cruel laugh sounding in the background.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Unfortunately I had to take yeh to this lot after I took you out of the ruins –"

"Rubbish!" shouted Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped in surprise. He had almost forgotten the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon had seemed to gain back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid with his teeth grinding madly and his fists were clenched.

"Now you listen here boy," he snarled, "I accept that there's something strange about you. We've had to keep your condition quiet for years! As if a regular beating would have done it. We should have bludgeoned you until your ears started to bleed. We were too damn soft for our own good!" At that, Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley's Smelting stick and had thrown it at Harry, hitting him squarely on the nose. Hagrid had risen from his seat.

"If you do that again Dursley," Hagrid said fiercely, holding out his pink umbrella like a javelin, "you'll wish you hadn't been born . . ."

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon deflated and withdrew back into the corner with Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which now sagged all the way down to the floor.

Harry, however, was still bursting with unanswered questions.

"But what happened to Vol-, I'm sorry – I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"That's a good question, Harry. He vanished. He hasn't been seen for years since the night he tried to kill you. That makes yeh even more famous. His power was rapidly rising throughout the years, so – why did he go?"

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. I dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like. But I don't believe it. People on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they coulda done if he was comin' back.

"Some of his followers are still active. However they perform acts for their own selfish need, nowadays. . . ." Hagrid sighed.

"You mean like what this . . . Greyback fellow did to me?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," answered Hagrid. "I don't understand why he didn't grab you afterwards though. That's what he usually does. . . . Not the I'm complainin', o' course. You wouldn' be sittin' here if he had grabbed yeh.

"And now . . . it's time for shut-eye," Hagrid said, standing up. He walked over to the Dursleys, picked them up, and placed them on the bed.

Uncle Vernon, however, shouted, "I AM NOT PAYING SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!"

This time, he had gone too far. Hagrid spun around on his heel, pointing his umbrella at Uncle Vernon's nose.

"NEVER –" he thundered, "—INSULT – ALBUS – DUMBLEDORE – IN – FRONT – OF – ME!"

He brought the umbrella down on Dudley. There was a flash of violet light, a squeal, and Dudley was seen holding his hands over the rear of his trousers, screaming in pain. Harry looked when Dudley had turned around, holding his hands over his face. Harry could see a pig's tail curling out of a hole that it had poked in Dudley's trousers.

Uncle Vernon yelled in fury. He slammed the door behind Hagrid after casting a terrified look towards him. Hagrid looked slightly abashed, stroking his beard and gazing down at his umbrella.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice full of regret.

"What are you talking about? That was brilliant!" said a thoroughly excited Harry. "To tell the truth, he's had it coming."

"Yes, well," began Hagrid, glancing at the closed door, "I'm not really allowed to do magic under normal circumstances. See, I meant to turn him into a pig, but I have to work hard just to get an Engorgement Charm out nowadays. Although, he might have been too much of a pig to start with, so there wasn't much ter do with.

"I was only allowed ter do a little bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff – one o' the reasons I was so eager to accept the task," said Hagrid.

"Why aren't you allowed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well – I was at Hogwarts meself, but I – er – got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In my third year. The snapped me wand in half an' everythin'. Dumbledore helped me stay on as gamekeeper. O' course Dippet didn't wan' me ter stay, but Dumbledore insisted. An' Dippet always trusted Dumbledore, jus' like almost everybody else does," said Hagrid, swallowing. "Look Harry, it's a painful subject and I'd appreciate it if yeh could hold the questions."

"Oh, I understand," said Harry, feeling guilty about even asking the question. "Sorry, but why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid, apparently turning a deaf ear to the question. "Gotta go ter London to register you, then we've got ter get up ter Diagon Alley to get all yer books an' that."

He tossed his large coat at Harry.

"You can keep yourself warm under that," said Hagrid. "I hope you don't mind if it wriggles a bit. I think that I've still got a couple o' dormice in the pockets." With that, Hagrid extinguished the glowing fire, leaving Harry to lie awake in a shroud of unfeeling darkness.

**Review Section**

SFW – Okay, here's the next one? (XD)

Nocturnal007 – I saw it and I thought it was pretty good. I haven't seen such an interesting view into Cedric Diggory's home life before.

FantasyFreak4Life – Yeah, it is great, isn't it?

WolfbainKohaku – Yeah, that would be a nasty thought. The blood protection placed on Harry would have failed if he had been away from the Dursleys, unfortunately. So, yeah. . . .

Moonblaze Starfire – Yes, he actually was Remus Lupin. Harry could just vaguely recognize him.

Kuramasgal – Yeah, thanks for understanding.

Well, since marching season has already started, I probably won't be able to update as often. I'll try to get at least a paragraph or so done each night. That is why I put two chapters into one. Until next update . . .

Signing off.


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